


Concessions to Practicality

by strawberriesandtophats



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Established Relationship, Lust, M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 14:42:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15026897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberriesandtophats/pseuds/strawberriesandtophats
Summary: Prompt: The only remedy for this old wound is a scorching hot bath.





	Concessions to Practicality

**Author's Note:**

> I'm uploading fics so I don't lose them.

You got slices of heaven in this life, brief flashes of it. And everyone got their share of hell, too.

Otherwise, how you could recognise either place when you got there?

The sight of Captain Treville sighing as he sank into the scorching hot water in the bath, his lashes fluttering as his muscles relaxed was definitely a gift from God.

Richelieu wasn’t entirely sure how he’d finally managed to convince Treville to take a bath in the first place. Well, he knew that he’d dropped hints and made sly comments while dragging his fingertips across Treville’s biceps for months on end about how much better his bathtub and accommodations were than the ones at the garrison. He had proper soap for one thing and soft cloth that didn’t hurt the skin when you dried yourself.

But those comments had mostly been teasing and his own desire to see Treville in a position of vulnerability. Or at least the kind of vulnerability every person had when submerged in water and only wearing faded underthings that clung to everything. Absolutely everything.

Perhaps it didn’t really matter what the final straw that had convinced Treville to head over to bathe here had been. The important thing was that he was here, making content little sounds without much of anything covering his body.

Treville was after all a man that spent all day dressed in leather and sturdy boots and often armour, always ready for a physical fight. There was no way to ignore that the man had a good, very functional body. Every movement was contained, even when he was just walking or standing stock still beside the king. He had a physical presence and his reputation with a sword reached far and wide so that everyone knew that attacking him was a bad idea.

Earlier that week Treville had grimaced when he’d rolled his shoulder in the late hours, when they were alone in his office, still out of breath and skin still tingling with pleasure.

“The only remedy for that is a scorching hot bath,” Richelieu had said, more as a mild joke than anything else, adjusting his robes.

Treville hadn’t said anything, instead he’d started searching for his hat.

Richelieu had let the matter drop and tried to get his curls to look somewhat presentable.

And this evening, in the middle of a discussion about the current dangers to the crown, Treville had inquired about the bath and if he might use it. And now they were here.

There had been a kind of vicious pleasure in hearing the clang of the armor hitting the floor earlier. Treville hadn’t taken his clothes of seductively, as if unwrapping a gift. Cloth hadn’t brushed his skin as slowly as flowers bloomed, not had it been yanked off or ripped.

No, he’d looked at the bath and just taken the clothes of in practised, measured movements, folded them and stood there, only clad in his chemise like he had all the time in the world.

He’d sat in the bath for a long while now, humming old songs underneath his breath as the water loosened the tension in his muscles.

Making Treville feel loved was always one step closer to making the entire country better. A happy and fulfilled Treville meant a more alert Treville, which was a state of being that delighted the king and frightened pretty much the entire court.

“You were right,” Treville said, voice low. “It’s already better.”

“Indeed?” Richelieu asked, enjoying the view of soap on the delicate skin of Treville’s inner wrist. “How gratifying to hear. You should tell me that every day.”

Treville closed his eyes and started washing his hair instead of replying. Muscles shifted as he moved, his expression peaceful.

Richelieu counted scars, remembering the feeling of them underneath his fingers. He’d never seen Treville like this for such a long period of time.

Their shared moments were usually hurried, hands gripping each other tightly in the carriage as it carried them towards the future, deep kisses and wandering hands. They never had time.

They’ve spent years melting into each other and tearing themselves away as quickly as they could, smoothing cloth and schooling their expressions into something that looked like professionalism.

The only time he’d seen Treville like this before was years ago, while still pinned underneath Richelieu on top of his office desk, Treville’s head tilted back and neck exposed. The door had been locked and Treville’s hands had still been on his trembling thighs, nails digging into the flesh.

They’d left bruises on each other that night, but the afterglow had been worth the wondering look from the king and the sting of the scratches on his back.

“I’d invite you to join me but you probably want your water cleaner than this,” Treville said, scooping water into his hands. Then he disappeared below the water and emerged again, shaking his head so that water dripped everywhere.

“Another time, perhaps,” Richelieu said, his mouth far too dry.

Treville had stood in the bath, towelling his hair. Drops slid lazily down his back as the water sloshed against his calves. The chemise clung to Treville’s back and ass, hiding nothing.

Every sin I’ve ever committed has been worth it for this view.

Every single one.

“Are you enjoying the show?” Treville asked, amusement creeping into his tone.

“Very much,” Richelieu said, flushing. His hand covered his lap as Treville grinned at him and continued drying himself with the efficacy of someone who was getting a job done.

There were still damp footprints on the floor when he climbed out of the bath, striding straight into Richelieu’s arms. Strong hands cupped the back of his neck and fingers found themselves entangled in grey curls.

Treville smiled as Richelieu’s hands wandered lower down.

They kissed until the world became a blurry place where nothing but this hot room existed, until nothing was real except their hands on each other.

The robes slid, layer by layer, onto the floor beside the armor.


End file.
